


Strange Bliss

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-11-15
Updated: 1998-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More car rides, more hotel rooms, more handcuffs. The sequel to "Road Trip."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> Set after "The Red And The Black" and before "The End." Content includes restraint. Many thanks to my beta readers: Gwyneth, Kenna, and Ruth.

Mulder surveyed the debris left in the warehouse, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

_Goddamn it._

He should've known. _Just yanking my chain again. The bastard._

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Scully."

"Hey. It's me. Remember that lead I was following? Well, they've cleared out. There's nothing left."

There was a silence during which he envisioned the disapproving look Scully'd given him as he left the office. She had a lot to be disapproving of, he had to admit. He'd told her about the new lead on more alien rebels, without telling her where he'd come by this lead. And he'd insisted on going to check it out alone, leaving her with the joyless task of facing Skinner. He had his own reasons for keeping Krycek's involvement to himself, but he refused to examine those reasons too closely. Especially when he realized that part of his disappointment at finding the place empty was that Krycek wasn't there.

From the other end of the connection, Scully sighed wearily. Mulder checked his watch and saw that it was past midnight on the East Coast.

"What did Skinner say?" he asked, although he could imagine exactly what Skinner said.

"He said you'd better come back with a damn good lead. Some tangible evidence this time would be nice, too. He was--" Mulder could hear her smile in her voice "--skeptical."

Mulder chuckled. "You don't say."

He looked around the warehouse again, examining the shadows and dark corners where the cold gleam of the fluorescent overhead lights didn't reach. "I'll go through what's left. Maybe I'll get lucky and find some of that tangible evidence Skinner is so fond of. And if not ..."

"If not, you're coming back on the next plane out of Oakland and facing Skinner yourself," Scully said firmly.

Mulder poked at a pile of burnt cloth with the toe of his shoe. "But you'll be there to hold my hand?"

"I'm hanging up now, Mulder." The line cut off.

Mulder tucked the phone back into his coat and retrieved his flashlight, choosing which corner to try first. He took two steps and froze.

_Oh, shit._

"Hello, Mulder. How's Scully these days?"

Mulder spun around and switched on the flashlight, shining it directly in Krycek's face. Krycek winced and squinted in the white glare.

"Scully's doing great. Throw me your gun."

Krycek smirked, lifting his hand to block the light. "I already did, asshole. Don't tell me you've forgotten our last night of passion."

Mulder approached cautiously. "You ram my head into a table and kiss me on the cheek and _that's_ a night of passion?"

Krycek shrugged. "With your social life, I'd say so."

Mulder was close enough now, so he punched him in the face and felt a satisfying thud against his fist. Krycek frowned and winced again, wiping blood from his nose. Mulder moved quickly, determined not to lose his moment of control. He set the flashlight aside and produced his handcuffs, joining Krycek's right wrist to his own left. He frisked Krycek, confiscated his gun, and held it to Krycek's neck.

"What're you going to do, Mulder?" Krycek asked, lifting his chin so the gun barrel was poised against his adam's apple.

"You know what? I think we're going on a road trip."

\-----

_More fucking handcuffs._

Goddamn it, his wrist was still raw from the last time. Although being handcuffed by the well-manicured man did not have the same _je ne sais quoi_ as being handcuffed by Fox Mulder, Krycek had to admit.

_Under other circumstances..._

He reluctantly gave up considering those other circumstances as Mulder steered the rental car onto a freeway ramp. Krycek glanced around, looking for a road sign.

"Where are we going?"

"Right now, we're going to my hotel."

Krycek grinned at him. "Oooo. Why didn't you say so?"

Mulder shot him a look. "Don't even think about it. That was temporary insanity. It won't happen again."

Krycek caught glimpse of a sign and saw they were heading northeast. He settled back in the passenger seat, wiggling his fingers to keep the blood circulating. "I'd hardly call your insanity temporary, but, whatever."

He closed his eyes and let himself sift through memories he'd been keeping buried. The heat of Mulder's bare flesh. The smell of his skin. What his cock had tasted like. The sound he made when he came. Maybe Mulder was right. Maybe it was only temporary insanity, and would never happen again. But he felt like he'd been the insane one.

\-----

Mulder drove on, thinking, _This was not a good idea._

Bad idea number one had been not to shoot Krycek on sight. Bad idea number two had been to leave him conscious. And bad idea number three was taking him back to the hotel. It was easy to tell Krycek not to think about it. Not so easy was keeping himself from thinking about it.

_This is completely insane._

Having a plan would've been nice.

_Kidnap Krycek and do **what** with him?_   
_Hold him._   
_Kiss him._   
_Bite him._   
_Fuck him._   
_Okay. Wrong plan._

Mulder by-passed the exit closest to his hotel so he could keep thinking. Given his track record, he had to admit that killing Krycek seemed unlikely, no matter how tempting that option was. So he examined his other options. Taking Krycek back to DC to answer for his crimes seemed to be the logical choice, but its weak point was the reliance on established means of justice. And the lack of personal revenge satisfaction.

But it was the only option that would keep Krycek with him.

_Goddamn it._

\-----

As they entered the hotel room, Krycek looked around and took note of various details: the bland but tasteful hotel chain furnishings, the appallingly ugly art print on the wall, Mulder's laptop on the bed.

_The bed._ As mundane as it was, it was inspiring a lot of distracting images of him and Mulder _in flagrante delicto_. He brought himself back to the present by saying, "The girl at the front desk is crushed, you know."

"Huh?" Mulder asked. He produced the key to the handcuffs and unlocked the left one. Krycek watched him looking around for a place to secure it.

"She saw us holding hands and the look of disappointment on her face... I think she had high hopes for you."

Mulder yanked on the cuffs and led him to the bed.

_Oh Mulder. Stop anticipating my most disturbing fantasies._

"The guy in the elevator, though," he continued. "I think we may have made a new friend there. I felt sure he was going to invite us up to his room."

=Clank.=

Mulder cuffed him to the bed frame. Krycek sat down and gazed up at him. There was a look in Mulder's eyes that Krycek instantly recognized. He'd seen that look before. _Oh yeah._ The war of desire and dismay, want and reluctance. If he stared at that look much longer, and thought about its implications, he was going to be very hard very quickly, and he couldn't count on Mulder cooperatively bringing him off.

"I have to go to the bathroom," he said.

The look disappeared, replaced by irritation and a hint of 'what have I gotten myself into.'

_What have we both gotten ourselves into?_

\-----

He should, Mulder reflected, just handcuff Krycek to the bathroom sink and leave him in there. There was just a little too much temptation in this situation, and if Krycek hadn't broken the spell, Mulder would probably be humping him by now, and that was an uncomfortable realization. No matter how many times he silently told his cock to forget it, it wasn't listening.

He undid the cuffs from the bed frame and held onto them while leading Krycek to the bathroom. Krycek stopped just inside and hesitated.

"Uh... you'll have to help me."

Mulder glared at him. "Why?"

Krycek cleared his throat and looked around the room.

"My arm... Uh, some guys cut my arm off. In Russia, after I got away from you. And with the handcuffs and all..."

Mulder's gaze immediately shifted to Krycek's left arm.

_How could I not notice? How could I not know?_

But he hadn't. Had just registered the basic shape of Krycek with two shoulders and two arms. Never noticed what was now so obvious: the slightly awkward angle of the arm, the smooth and sculpted hand that was an unnatural beige.

His first reaction was a renewed relief that he'd been able to escape a similar fate. Quickly replaced by an embarrassed shame for feeling that way, and after that, just a numb confusion because he wasn't sure what he should be feeling. Guilt? Pity? Satisfaction?

"Oh," he said, still at a loss for words. But Krycek saved him from having to react by bringing his focus back to the here and now.

"Yeah." Krycek sounded impatient. "So I really have to piss, okay? Are you gonna help me, or what?"

Mulder quickly reviewed his choices, not liking any of them.

"If I take the handcuffs off, can you manage?"

Krycek nodded and held up his right wrist.

Mulder got the key out and freed Krycek from the cuffs. Then he drew out his gun, stood in the doorway, and aimed it at Krycek's back. Just to be on the safe side.

"I'm not going to get any privacy here, am I?" Krycek complained.

"Nope."

Krycek gave a short sigh of disgust and went about his business. Mulder started counting the tiles on the wall, pretending he wasn't watching. As his gaze surreptitiously roamed over the curve of Krycek's ass, he found himself wondering how Krycek managed to fit himself into such tight jeans with only one good hand.

Krycek finished and turned around, zipping up his jeans. Mulder readied the handcuffs again.

"You're a prick, you know that?" Krycek said, looking at the handcuffs.

"Coming from you, that almost sounds like a compliment."

Krycek smirked at him -- that damnably attractive smirk, which had haunted both his nightmares and his wet dreams. "Coming from me, it _is_ a compliment."

Mulder started to snap the cuffs around Krycek's right wrist.

"Can't you leave those off? Just trust me not to run?" Krycek paused. "Okay. Stupid question. But I'm not going to run, Mulder. There was a reason why I was waiting for you, you know."

Mulder considered. He didn't like the sound of that, but was instantly curious as to what it meant. He shoved the handcuffs into his coat pocket, but kept his gun drawn.

"What reason?"

Krycek smiled ironically. "I wanted to make sure you were still listening to me. Still doing something with all the leads I've been giving you."

"Making sure we don't all go the way of the dinosaur?"

Krycek's smile faded and there was a coolness in his eyes. "Yeah."

Mulder chuckled. "That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard, Krycek."

Krycek stepped closer and smiled again. Mulder started to release the safety on his gun.

"Would you believe I just wanted to fuck you?"

_Oh yeah. Now **that** I believe._

\-----

"It's not gonna happen."

Mulder sounded so certain. Krycek hated that. He moved in until they were almost touching. Mulder pressed the gun against Krycek's neck.

"I should blow your head off."

Krycek stared into Mulder's eyes, thinking, _You probably should. Free us both._ But it was too late for that. He knew it and Mulder knew it, and he could tell by the heat emanating from Mulder's body just how much Mulder knew it. He tilted his head, brushing the gun aside with his cheek, and kissed him.

He tried to be slow, gentle, under control, but the taste of Mulder's lips was too much, too powerful. The jolt to his system stripped away all his defenses and pretenses and he grabbed Mulder's hip and pulled him closer.

Mulder responded, gratifyingly, intoxicatingly, and Krycek thought how much easier this was. Become lost in each other and never resurface. What was there to resurface for?

Mulder pushed him against the door frame and crushed their groins together. Krycek moaned into the kiss and clutched Mulder's ass. The door frame was breaking his spine, but he was so dizzy with lust he didn't care. He felt Mulder's erection sliding around under those smooth, well-cut trousers, seeking and finding his own with breathtaking accuracy. The cold barrel of the gun caressed his temple as Mulder held him, and Krycek imagined it going off by accident. He started laughing.

_Please don't let it go off before we fuck, oh god._

Mulder was as much chewing on him as kissing him, but he drew back from the laugh. Krycek rubbed against the gun. "Wanna put that away or are you kinkier than I thought you were?"

Mulder grimaced and put the gun back into its holster. Krycek seized the opportunity to pull back from the door frame and kiss and bite Mulder's neck and jaw and cheek. "You want me, baby, don't you?" he breathed into Mulder's ear, and felt a shiver of response.

"I'm not your baby," Mulder hissed against his neck, molding his hands to Krycek's ass, rubbing and squeezing.

They stumbled towards the bed together and Krycek could not stop laughing. He felt so high, but this was better than any drug. This was stupefying lust and longing and the promise of skin-searing sex. This was hatred and love so close together, so intermingled, it was impossible to tell them apart.

While Mulder stripped with shaking hands, Krycek managed to tear off his own clothes. He started to unfasten his prosthetic arm, but hesitated.

"Is this gonna bother you? It's easier for me without it..." He trailed off because Mulder looked so unsure.

_No, no no no no. I need you **sure**. I need you..._

Mulder touched his left shoulder, a tentative, gentle touch. "I don't know. Go ahead and take it off."

Krycek removed it slowly, recognizing the curiosity in Mulder's eyes as Mulder watched him. Waiting for the revulsion. Trying not to feel like a circus freak. He cast the fake arm aside, off the bed, and stared at Mulder until Mulder met his stare.

And he wasn't prepared for what he saw. Mulder didn't care. Curiosity satisfied, it was back to lust. Krycek shuddered involuntarily and closed his eyes briefly, breathing deeply and trying, oh god was he trying, not to come.

_Not yet, oh please not yet, oh fucking jesus._

\-----

Mulder stared at the body before him and saw only what he remembered and what had always turned him on more effectively and more powerfully than anything else on earth: craving, need, plain and simple and stunning want. Okay, if he were a hundred per cent honest, the hacked-off stump of an arm was pretty unattractive, but he really didn't care. It was still attached to Krycek, and for whatever damnable and harrowing reason, Krycek he found attractive. Found beautiful. Wanted with every cell in body.

Krycek had his eyes closed and was panting. Mulder smiled a little. _Jeez, and I think **I'm** bad when I'm this horny._ He flirted with the idea of touching Krycek's cock and watching him explode, but aside from the sheer vindictive evil of it, it would be an unsatisfactory climax for him, as well, because he knew the sight of Krycek coming would set him off.

_How pathetic are we? We can't touch each other because we're so fucking desperate for each other?_

He chuckled quietly and Krycek opened his eyes. He seemed to catch the joke and smirked.

"Are we ever going to have sex here, or just sit around and think about it?" Krycek murmured, sliding a foot along Mulder's calf.

Mulder gave him what he hoped was a mysterious smile and leaned over the side of the bed, looking for Krycek's leather jacket. Krycek flashed him a grin as he found it and hunted through the pockets.

"Aren't you lucky? I always come prepared." Krycek's toes scratched at Mulder's ankle.

Mulder fished out the tube of lubricant and uncapped it. "Must be that Boy Scout training."

"Something like that."

When his gel-smeared fingers eased into Krycek's ass, Mulder had to steady himself. The aching throb that went through his cock resonated in his entire body and made his ears ring. The only anchor Mulder had was Krycek, watching Krycek gasp down a breath and spread his legs wider and dig his fingers into the blanket.

_Oh yeah. **This** I need._

Waiting no longer a viable option, he wrapped his arms around Krycek and shifted him until Krycek was over his lap and they were sitting up, facing each other. All his weight balanced on his knees and calves, and Mulder knew he was going to pay for it later but there was something so damned sexy about this, and before he could even reconsider Krycek had engulfed his cock and was holding it inside his hot, hot, tight, tight body, and if the ache he'd felt before had been bad, well, this one was so much worse -- so much better -- he might go blind.

Krycek held onto him, sinking his fingers into Mulder's hair and breathing against Mulder's ear, not moving, not yet. Just the steady thump-thump of his heart, which Mulder felt against and around him. He locked his arms around Krycek and his hands restlessly wandered over the smooth skin of Krycek's shoulders and back and ass. He drew out the exquisite torture as long as he could stand it -- which wasn't very long -- then he had to move, had to rock and thrust and pump and fuck Krycek with all the strength and fury and desperation he had.

Krycek responded by giving it all back to him, in spades. Rocking and thrusting with him, and viciously squeezing him. Clawing at him, sinking his teeth into Mulder's shoulder and neck, and ramming his cock against Mulder's stomach. As if they were fighting and fucking each other simultaneously, and Mulder wasn't sure which was driving him more insane.

He pushed and buried himself in Krycek's heat until the frenzy overtaking him plateaued for a brief instant, collapsing into shockwaves of life-force as he came. He couldn't breathe or see or move when he felt Krycek trembling and tightening around him, felt thick, creamy pulses against his skin, the same rhythm as the heartbeat that held him.

Time ebbed around them as they held each other, fires dying into breath and flesh and tiny shudders. Mulder rubbed his hands over Krycek's sweat-moistened back and opened his eyes to see the twitch of pulse in Krycek's neck. He kissed there, then found himself kissing anywhere, everywhere. Krycek was panting against his shoulder, slumping and resting all of his weight on Mulder. Mulder realized his legs had gone numb.

_Ah hell, who needs legs anyway?_

\-----

"I wish I smoked." Krycek stretched, then relaxed again into a pleasantly rubbery, boneless state of existence. After a moment of silence, he glanced over at Mulder, who had one arm slung over his head and looked similarly boneless.

"I used to," Mulder said.

"Really? Why'd you quit?"

"It's bad for you."

Krycek grinned and stared up at the ceiling. "So are a lot of other things."

"Tell me about it." Mulder's tone of voice didn't quite make it sound like a joke, and Krycek felt suddenly sober. He knew why, too. They were both thinking the same thing, after all: _what now?_

Of course, he knew _what now_. _What now_ consisted of figuring out why his employers had cleared out of Oakland. He'd been so careful setting this up. What had tipped them off? He really needed to know, and he really didn't want to think about it right now.

_Fuck._

He hadn't wanted to come back to reality so soon. The trouble with sex with Mulder was that it didn't go on forever. And when it was over, they were back to square one. Pawns on some giant chessboard pretending to be knights.

He squirmed until he was sitting up. "Know what I could go for right now?"

"What?"

"A steak sandwich. Nice, lean steak done medium rare and really juicy, on a soft roll, with lettuce -- cold, crispy lettuce and not that wilted shit you always get -- and fresh tomato slices. Maybe a little A-1 sauce, a little mustard." His mouth watered and his stomach grumbled.

Mulder was quiet for a long moment, then he said, "With a beer. A cold, imported beer. Bass, or maybe Heineken, in a pinch."

"I'd settle for a Corona." He looked over at the clock on the nightstand. It wasn't midnight yet. "Does this place have room service?"

Mulder sat up and gave him a disgusted look. "I'm not ordering room service for you. Aside from trying to explain it on my 402s, it's the principle of the thing."

"Steak, Mulder. Dripping juice over the roll. The tomato and lettuce getting a little salty..."

With a low growl, Mulder reached across him for the phone and punched a number. Krycek smiled, satisfied, and closed his eyes, listening to Mulder negotiate with room service. After a couple of minutes of "uh-huhs" and "I sees," Mulder said, "They don't have steak sandwiches. I'm getting us two chicken quesadillas and two beers, and if you don't like it you can starve, for all I care."

Krycek sadly let go of the picture of the ultimate steak sandwich he'd been savoring in his head and opened his eyes. "Order some extra guacamole and I am so there."

\-----

_For a guy with one arm, he doesn't have any trouble shovelling that quesadilla away._

Mulder was famished, himself, though, so he couldn't really talk. It was almost 1 a.m. and he was wired. After that bout of mind-blowing sex, he'd expected to slip into a stupor and sleep through the uncomfortable aftermath, but it hadn't happened. He was stuck with Krycek now, and he still didn't know what to do with him other than drag him back to DC. The question was, how could he justify driving him back across the country, instead of flying?

_Well, you see, sir, I just had to have sex with him a few more times, and it's too damned difficult on an airplane. In coach. Perhaps if the Bureau had sprung for first-class seats--?_

He watched Krycek licking away a smear of guacamole from his lower lip and pondered the concept of "a few more times." More like a few million more times. _Damn him._

\-----

Krycek grabbed the pillow under him, crammed his face against it and growled in frustration.

"What's up?"

He flopped onto his back and glared up at Mulder. Fucking insomniac Mulder, who would drive any sane person to madness.

He spoke slowly, trying to be calm. "If you have to watch TV, can't you watch something else besides infomercials? If I hear about the E-Z Learn Phonetics System one more time, I'm going to get my gun and shoot either you or the TV, I haven't decided which."

Mulder brandished the remote smugly and shrugged. "You can learn a lot about the current state of American society by watching infomercials. Besides, the only other option is the Spanish channel. And it's showing infomercials. In Spanish. Your call, Krycek."

Krycek looked around the room. "Where'd you put the guns?"

"Forget it."

Krycek squinted across the room at the channel box. "Don't they have pay-per-view porn?"

"Forget that, too. I already racked up that room service bill I have to explain."

"Like _you'd_ have to explain your porn fix to anyone. Get real, Mulder. I bet Skinner budgets it into your travel allowance these days."

Mulder clicked off the TV and dropped the remote on the floor. "Keep being an asshole. You're making this much easier for me." He slid down under the covers and rolled onto his side, but Krycek knew he wouldn't go to sleep. Krycek closed his eyes and tried to doze off, but it was too late. His mind was awake now, thinking about things he'd rather not be thinking of.

After a while, he asked quietly, "Easier? Does that mean there's a hard part to this?"

He waited and waited for an answer. Mulder wasn't asleep. No fucking way. He was just about to turn him over and get an answer, damn it, when Mulder said, voice muffled by blankets, "Yeah, there is, okay? Now go to sleep."

Like he could sleep after that revelation.

\-----

The maid woke them up. Mulder's body jerked awake and he sat bolt upright, taking a deep breath. He glanced over at the door, heard a quiet, accented "Sorry," and thanked every god known to man that he'd put the chain on last night.

Krycek stirred next to him, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand and cursing in Russian. "What time is it?"

"It's a quarter to ten. Check-out is at noon."

"What's the grand plan, Special Agent Mulder?" Krycek asked in a grating, sing-song voice.

Mulder didn't grace him with an answer and got out of bed, gathering his clothes.

"Hey Mulder."

He stopped at the foot of the bed and draped his tie over his shoulder. "What?"

Krycek sat up and ran his hand through his hair, which stuck up in funny-looking, attractive clumps. "C'mere. I want to ask you something."

"You can't ask me like this? What's the joke, Krycek?"

Krycek gave a frustrated sigh and said, "Just get over here, okay? It's not a joke, not a trick."

Mulder doubted that very much, knew this was just another chain-yanking, but since he'd already checked to make sure both guns were in his laptop case, he figured there was little harm in going along with it. Maybe.

He dropped his clothes and went over to sit on the edge of the bed. "Okay, ask."

Krycek reached out and ruffled Mulder's chest hair with his fingers. The touch sent a sliver of heat through Mulder's veins and he started to move Krycek's hand away. Instead, he found himself stroking it, feeling the strength and formation of the wrist muscles, and the light dusting of hair on Krycek's forearm. _Beautiful hands_, he thought, then corrected himself: _beautiful hand_.

"What did you want to ask me?"

Krycek gazed up at him with what was very much a come-hither look, and that made the sliver ignite more fires. "Don't you like to be fucked? Are you, like, hung up about it?" he asked, in that soul-shredding, sexy whisper.

Mulder tried to form words but all he could do was swallow. Krycek's gaze was relentless, never letting him go, and his fingers were moving constantly, twisting and swirling in his chest hair. Mulder cleared his throat and smoothed his hand along Krycek's arm, up to his elbow.

"I'm not hung up about it."

As if to punctuate his reply, his cock twitched against his thigh. Krycek noticed, smirked at him, and rubbed Mulder's left nipple.

"Well, that's good," Krycek murmured slowly. "Because my next question was going to be: why don't you come back to bed and let me fuck your brains out?"

Mulder straightened his spine and let his hand drop, swallowing again and feeling his cock lift higher. "When you ask so sweetly, how can I say no?" he joked, voice a little shakier than he wanted it to be. Krycek's smirk became a smile. A smug, satisfied, cat-with-canary smile, but it was still turning him on so much that Mulder pulled back the sheets to uncover Krycek's naked body. He gazed down at Krycek's cock, full and flushed and hard, and before he could stophimself, he moaned softly, "Oh christ, yes."

Krycek cupped the back of his neck and kissed him, slow but hungry, and Mulder squirmed onto the bed, straddling Krycek's legs. Just as Krycek broke from the kiss and took the tube of lubricant from Mulder's offering hand, the phone rang.

Mulder stared at it for a split second, brain suddenly kicked from the fog of lust where it wanted to be. Then he leaned over and grabbed it. "Yeah?"

"Mulder?"

Scully. Mulder could actually feel himself blush guiltily, as if she knew, as if she could know. He slid closer to the nightstand, precariously balanced on his knees.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Why aren't you on your way back? Did you find something?"

He could feel Krycek writhing around him, then behind him. There was a low, evil laugh against his back, and Krycek whispered, "Say hi to Scully for me." Mulder wanted to shoot himself for being so turned on by that damned laugh.

He held the phone closer to his ear, as if to block Krycek out of existence, and said, "No... um, yeah, actually, I did. I'll explain later. It's complicated."

Scully gave one of her 'here we go again' sighs and said, "I don't think Skinner will accept that answer. He said..."

The rest of her sentence became a blur of words and sounds as the sensations his body was experiencing overloaded his mind. A firm grip on one buttock, a blast of hot breath between his legs, making his balls ache with fullness, then the slow, savoring, slippery lick that teased and opened him. He bit his tongue to keep back the groan.

"Listen, I'll have to call you back. I'll come home today, I promise. Just keep Skinner at bay, and it'll be worth it, okay?" He spoke rapidly to block out any "ohhhhs" and "ahhhhs" that were lurking in his throat, awaiting their escape. He heard her protest, then grudgingly give in, and hung up as soon as he could, throwing the receiver into its cradle and leaning back into the intoxicating feel of Krycek's tongue rolling inside him. Knowing, at the edge of his consciousness, that he was going to feel guilty about this later, but right now...

\-----

If Mulder'd said no, Krycek decided he would have had to shoot one of them, just to end his misery.

But Mulder hadn't said no. He was, in fact, saying YES YES YES with every breath and sigh and moan and languorous motion of his hips. Responding to Krycek's torturous teasing, pleading for more with his body, until Krycek couldn't hold back any longer.

Krycek was rock hard, and the fire coursing through his veins blurred his senses from the world around him. He wanted this so much. And when he entered Mulder, he thought his heart would stop from the pure pleasure, the perfection, of it. He'd never dreamed it would be this good, with Mulder welcoming and fitting to him, wanting more, always wanting more. Krycek had to stay still and inhale a deep breath to keep from just falling into this heaven and never recovering.

He was supporting himself on his arm and he knew this wasn't going to work, _goddamn missing arm_, so he shifted, urging Mulder to move with him until they were sitting. Mulder on his lap, sitting like rowers, Krycek thought, and moved, rowed, and Mulder rowed with him. Back and forth, gliding, up and down, flowing, bodies perfectly in synch, moving as one.

Krycek held Mulder and kissed his neck and treasured the feel of his skin. Mulder rubbed against and around him, and reached to caress Krycek's legs. Caution and deception had melted away with the first moan from Mulder's lips, and Krycek gave everything he had, everything he felt, knowing how vulnerable he was and, for once, not caring.

If Mulder knew, and if he cared, he didn't show it. Instead, he returned it all and kept asking for more, writhing so invitingly, tilting his head back and uttering non-words that fell as wisps of air against Krycek's cheek. When Krycek reached to stroke Mulder's erection, the quiet groan of pleasure in response was a shock of raw, addictive joy that pushed Krycek deeper. He pushed until he filled Mulder's body, silky heat that wrapped around him so perfectly.

He moved faster, building to the rhythm that was spurring them on, until Krycek felt Mulder buck and twist in his arms, felt the grip of Mulder's body tighten as they crested together. Falling, collapsing, the world around them becoming kaleidoscopic fragments because the only reality was the fusion of their bodies and the energy burning off of them.

When the world reordered itself, Krycek was slumped against the headboard and Mulder was slumped against him. Krycek moved his fingers and felt Mulder's cock, warm and soft and sticky. He played with it gently until Mulder took his hand and moved it higher. He flattened his palm over Mulder's stomach and rubbed it, fingertips straying into the soft nest of Mulder's pubic hair.

_I don't want to go back. Not yet. Please._

\-----

Mulder leaned his head against Krycek's and dozed. He didn't want to move, didn't want to think, didn't want to do anything but savor this. Before they reconstructed their suits of armor, just this. Sprawling together in the strange bliss of fulfillment and loss.

\-----

In the rental car, Mulder sat with the map on his lap, gun in one hand in case Krycek tried to escape. As he traced a spaghetti tangle of highway with his finger, looking for the airport, Krycek asked casually, "Have you ever been across the Donner Pass?"

Mulder looked up. "Why do you want to know?"

Krycek shrugged, paused, seemed to come to a decision. "Okay. There's a place over in Nevada where they might have taken the alien. It's a long shot, but--"

The fury rose inside him so quickly, Mulder had the gun to Krycek's head and the safety cocked before he knew what he was doing. "You fucking bastard. You knew all along and you weren't going to tell me."

Krycek didn't flinch, but kept his gaze locked onto Mulder's. "I didn't _know_, and I still don't. It's a guess. I thought they'd be at the warehouse, but they weren't. You may find this hard to believe, but some people don't trust me enough to tell me everything."

Mulder glared at him, cursing himself for thinking that having sex with Krycek made a difference, somehow. Lessened the sting of reality, when instead it just added the poison.

"I don't believe you. The man who sent you-- he would've told you."

"No one sent me. Besides, not everyone trusts him. These aren't trusting men, Mulder, something I'm sure you can appreciate. They have a hundred guys who can do what I do. I'm not in on everything."

Mulder kept the gun barrel pressed to Krycek's temple. "Then why do they even bother with you?" Not voicing the question in his head, _why do **I** bother with you?_

Krycek smiled. "Because I'm better than the other ninety-nine. I'm smarter than they are. But that's the very reason why they don't trust me. They know I'm smarter, and they know I know more than I should. Their reason for keeping me is also the reason they can't use me as much as they'd like. You can see the irony of the situation."

"Yes," Mulder said drily. "How unfortunate."

Krycek stared into his eyes, still smiling, and whispered, "Are you going to blow my head off, or what?"

That smile could be lethal, in more ways than one, Mulder decided. He could feel the trap around them: desire becoming a physical presence that would keep them bound. Kill him or kiss him-- the choice was always the same.

"Would it make any difference if I did?"

Krycek moved his head and rubbed his mouth against the gun. "No. Not to me." Then he kissed the gun barrel. Mulder lowered the gun and put it away.

"You're psychotic, you know that?"

Krycek sat back in the passenger seat. "You're the expert."

\-----

The long drive across the Sacramento valley finally gave way to the twists and turns of the Donner Pass. Mulder entertained Krycek with the story of the Donner Party, a band of average, hard-working pioneers who became trapped in the Sierras during a hard winter and resorted to cannibalism. It was the kind of black, bitter tale Krycek imagined Mulder studying before flying out west. Boning up on the local history of misery.

It was a good thing he never got car sick, he thought as the car coiled up the mountains, constantly adjusting speed. He watched the picture postcard scenery winding past them, and thought about sex. Sex with Mulder. Flesh-tingling, soul-stealing, head-blowing, fantastic sex with Mulder. It had to end, so it ended. In the way that things that could never be over ended, he thought with a smile.

_No. It'll never be over. As long as I breathe, I'm going to think about it. Remember it in some tiny part of my consciousness. Feel it in my balls and my brain and my heart until the memory of it torments me to death._

He could only hope Mulder was facing a similar hell: to be haunted the way Mulder was going to haunt him. The trouble was, he couldn't be sure of that. Mulder wasn't giving him any clues. And the idea that Mulder might escape this fate pissed him off so much he half-wished the whole goddamned consortium would be waiting for them and finish them off.

Okay. That was silly. If he couldn't keep fucking Mulder forever, he was going to let the world be destroyed? A nice revenge, but it lacked subtlety, maybe. Besides, if he were completely honest with himself, it wasn't just the fucking, was it? No, the worst thing about it was that the fucking was the least of it. It was being wanted, and being wanted by _Mulder_, that had him hooked like a loser smack addict.

He liked the analogy and played with it in his mind, imagining this interminable car ride as the first taste of cold turkey in a rehab clinic. He pictured the cheap, plentiful whores of New York and Los Angeles and Moscow and labelled them methadone. Then he sobered, considering the outcomes. Total rehabilitation, or overdose. He wondered which Mulder would prefer.

\-----

The eastern sky was losing its yellow brilliance to the rose-grey beginning of dusk when they reached the unmarked dirt road that veered away from the Truckee and into the desert hills. Mulder drove the car across country only a jeep could handle effectively, and wondered how much deeper into a trap he could go.

_Follow Krycek, lose my soul._

And all sense of reasoning, apparently.

And, damn it, it wasn't just the sex. As mind-altering as the sex was, it didn't erase what had always been there between them. A subtle, sly bond that only tightened and made itself known when they were about to kill each other. He couldn't name it, and wasn't sure he wanted to, but he knew it was there.

_If only it were just the sex._

\-----

"What do you mean, no one sent you?"

_Leave it to Mulder to resume a conversation hours later._

"Words of one syllable, Mulder: no... one... sent... me."

Mulder scowled at him. "I don't believe you."

Krycek watched the cloudless sky. "I know you don't."

Mulder was quiet for a moment, then said, as if asking himself, "If no one sent you, why would you tell me anything?"

_Good question._ One that had various, complicated reasons he didn't like to explore, much less confess to Mulder.

"Maybe I just want you to save the world."

"Why? Because you're done screwing it over?"

Krycek smirked and stared at the passing desert. "If only."

\-----

He stopped the car where Krycek told him to, although Krycek admitted he'd never been here before, and wasn't sure they were in the right place.

_Déja-vu all over again,_he thought as he walked over tough desert ground in his work shoes while Krycek easily kept pace in rubber-soled boots. They followed a trail into the hills and it looked like this was going to turn into a trip to nowhere, when he spotted it. Nestled at the foot of the next hill, a white, cylindrical building. As they approached, he could make out more structures around it. They looked like solar panels, ringing a giant satellite dish.

Krycek stopped and sat down to catch his breath. "This must the place," he said, nodding ahead. "Looks like the Ponderosa to me."

Mulder sat down next to him and loosened his shoelaces. He squinted at the white building and tried to make out more details. "What I can't decide is if you're just trying to walk me into my early grave through sheer exhaustion, or if the idea is to drag me out here to see me fail so I'll have a coronary while I'm beating the hell out of you."

Krycek chuckled. "You keep thinking I want you dead. You gotta work on that paranoia, Mulder. A guy might develop a complex."

"A little late for that," Mulder intoned somberly, standing up. "Come on, Little Joe. Hop Sing is waiting."

\-----

The place was deserted, or seemed to be, when they reached the fence. It wasn't a tricky fence to de-trigger and open, which Krycek chalked up to the consortium's total arrogance as well as the fact that they were hundreds of miles from civilization, and casual interlopers were unlikely. They entered the compound and Mulder drew his gun, but was still being too picky to give Krycek his. The place was definitely consortium, Krycek could feel it in his bones. While Mulder wasted time examining the solar panels, Krycek made for the building, which emitted a faint hum. It was an ominous sound, and he just hoped to hell that the building wasn't an underground bunker.

_Shit._

It was an underground bunker. He quietly called Mulder over, standing in the entrance way and looking down into the black depths. The hum hadn't grown louder when he opened the door, a fact that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He really hated shit like this.

"Well?" Mulder whispered.

"I don't think they're here. But if they are, they're down there."

He heard Mulder's feet shuffle over the floor, then a quiet clank as Mulder stepped onto the metal spiral staircase leading down. From the failing outside light coming in through the doorway, he could make out Mulder's shape descending.

He did not want to follow. He did not want to go down there. At all. Not even for Mulder. He knew, with utter and complete certainty, that the second his feet touched that staircase, the door behind him was going to slam shut, and they were going to be trapped here. In total blackness, that unknown hum and the sounds of their own hearts beating driving them mad, until they shot themselves, or became animals and savaged each other for an insane survival.

_God, how Edgar Allen Poe can you get?_

He checked around the door for unseen bolts and catches, but didn't find any. He made sure it was open all the way, then looked around for something to wedge against it, just to make sure the wind didn't blow it shut. He couldn't find anything heavy enough located conveniently nearby, so he sacrificed his prosthetic arm, and was morbidly pleased with the aesthetics of the arrangement. If anyone came along to lock them inside, they might just pause at seeing a dismembered human arm stuck through a doorway.

Then he gathered his breath and followed Mulder down the staircase.

\-----

Mulder nearly jumped out of his skin when Krycek joined him at the bottom of the stairs. The place was pitch black, and Krycek had been impressively silent on his descent. Years of practice, no doubt.

He couldn't see or hear a damn thing, except for that constant humming sound, which he assumed must be an air system. He felt around for his flashlight, wondering whether it was a good idea to have both hands occupied, or if he should put away his gun. As he switched on the light, Krycek hissed, "Fuck, Mulder. What are you trying to do? Get us killed? Put that away."

Mulder aimed the light at him. "If there's no one here, it doesn't matter. If they're here, I'd rather see them before I draw my last breath, wouldn't you?"

"It's not a scenario I like to give much thought," Krycek muttered, moving ahead. As he did so, Mulder noticed Krycek's left sleeve dangling, empty.

"Hey, what happened to your arm?"

Krycek stopped by a glass-sealed entrance way, peering inside. "I'll tell you l-- Shhh. Did you hear that?"

Mulder had. He waved the flashlight around, searching for its source. The sound grew louder. Footsteps, but just one man.

The impeccably groomed man stopped and said in a cold, civil, British accent, "Mr. Krycek, come here."

Mulder glared at Krycek, revolted again by the layers of deception the man was capable of, and wishing he'd killed him twenty-fours ago.

But Krycek didn't move. He stayed where he was and said, "No."

The well-manicured man didn't seem to like that. He took a step closer. "What you're looking for is gone, Mr. Mulder, and this game Mr. Krycek has been playing with you has to end."

Krycek glanced over at Mulder and shook his head. "No. Really, Mulder. I--"

"You _what_?" Mulder hissed. He pointed the flashlight at Krycek's face.

"It wasn't a trap," Krycek whispered rapidly. "Or if it was, it wasn't for you, it was for--"

"Mr. Krycek!" The man's voice echoed through the bunker.

Then all hell broke loose. A siren went off, and red, glaring lights lit up the bunker, bathing it in a blood-hued glow. Mulder dropped his flashlight and raised his gun, scanning for the hordes of uniformed men he expected to see any second. The man barked something about "against our orders" to Krycek, but the siren drowned out most of the words. He stepped behind the spiral staircase and almost slipped as his shoe touched something slimy and sticky. He crouched down to examine it when Krycek shouted out, "Run!"

He looked back and saw the well-manicured man aiming a gun. At him. Then Krycek blocked the view, coming between him and the man, yelling over the siren, "Get the hell out of here, Mulder. Now."

Mulder rose, yelling back, "There's evidence here, Krycek. I can't let them destroy it. It's here."

Krycek ran over to him and grabbed his arm, pushing him at the stairs. "Run, Mulder. Get away. I'll take care of this."

"No way..." The first shot flew by his ear as he started to argue. Krycek pushed him again, and Mulder started up the stairs, the siren and lights and confusion preventing him from thinking too hard about it. He knew there was evidence down there, and if he could just get out and get help, maybe they could save it. If Krycek held them back long enough...

He reached the top of the stairs.

_Yeah, right. Like Krycek's holding anyone back. This was just another fucking trap._

Believing that made running away easier, anyway.

\-----

Assistant Director Skinner closed the file folder on his desk and sat back. "Two back-up teams failed to find any evidence at the site."

Mulder shifted in his chair. "Yes, sir. I know."

"And you knew nothing about Agent Mulder's sudden jaunt to Nevada?"

Scully clasped her hands over her lap. "No, sir. Agent Mulder broke contact with me approximately twelve hours before the incident described in his report." Mulder heard the unhappy, betrayed undertone in her voice and silently sent her a thousand apologies, wondering not for the first time if he really had been temporarily insane.

Skinner's glare returned to Mulder, causing him to shift again. "And you did all of this alone? Without back-up? Following an anonymous lead? Leaving your partner behind? How do you explain this, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder cleared his throat. "It's all in my report. I think if you'll just re--"

Skinner dropped the report into a drawer and slammed it shut. "I've read it. Your explanation doesn't satisfy me. You've brought nothing back to justify your actions. Your hotel bill lists two room service dinners, a fact you keep dismissing, but which points all too clearly toward someone else's involvement in this mess. I want to know who you're protecting."

Mulder stared back, determined not to blink first. "No one. I'm protecting no one."

They sat in silence until Skinner blinked and stood up, resting his hands on his hips and pacing to the window. "You're dismissed."

\-----

The e-mail was short, unsigned, from the obviously-faked address of "LittleJoe@yahoo.com," and the headers, which Mulder had the Lone Gunmen trace for him, led back to a large public library in Toronto. He knew who it was from, and tracing the address only gave him the illusion of a connection.

All it said was, _Keep looking up._

(The End)


End file.
